Vices
by Ki-hori-e-te-ao
Summary: They were abandoned, forgotten and tossed aside like rag-dolls. Angry, scared, alone, they all try and pry themselves from the deep pits of depression. Left alone, they all turn to their vices, but some vices prove more harmful than others.
1. Kojima Mizuiro

_1. Kojima Mizuiro. Class 3-A, Karakura Highschool. Eighteen-years of age. Known womaniser._

The dawn comes as any other, a dark cyan with streaks of peaches and thin white clouds. Judging by the mostly blue hue, he could say it was near four and five in the morning. Sitting, his muscles ache and he stretches, face pausing when he sees this nights lover. A heart-shaped face bares a light smile and brunette hair surrounds her head in an alluring way.

Smirking, Mizuiro bends down and traces a kiss on her collarbone, Nana-san? Narumi-san? Nakahara-san? He's forgotten her name, but whomever she is, she moans in delights and peers up at him in a drunken manner. Her smile is soft and bitter, if he remembers correctly, she's married, but her husband is always over seas.

"Ohayou, Kojima-san," her moans put softly, appreciation lacing her words.

"Ohayou, Ojou-sama," he whispers huskily into her ear.

She gives out a mirthful giggle and wraps her arms around his neck. Mizuiro's smirk deepens, he runs his slender fingers through her silky brown hair and his hips grinds into her pelvis, the flimsy sheet not doing anything, but proving to hindrance their affair.

Soft, slender fingers entwine in his hair as he rhythmically grinds against her, her moans ringing out in the love-suite.

Moans of pleasure. Their eyes meet and Mizuiro bends down to kiss her, softly tracing every curve and crevice of her mouth. Another groan leaves her mouth and his desire to please her comes springing up in the form on an erection. So, Mizuiro gives into his carnal desire and pleases her leisurely, taking the time to give her the affection she deserves.

Memories of frowning best friends. Of dying friends and blood, Hollows dark and frightening, humanoid figures and lies, so much lies. Scolding parents and shattered friendships, cigarette butts, Katana against Katana, gunpowder and vomit, hidden food, more lies and burnt photographs; they're pushed away, replaced by the elation in the strangers appreciative gaze.

A dopey smirk dances across his face, Mizuiro's body, filled with endorphins and hormones drive his actions.

He doesn't leave the hotel until ten, shirt tucked in yet creased, shoes untied and hair unruly. Hands ran through the usually straight hair mussing it. A hollow, dark gleam shines dimly in his eyes. No one pays the eighteen-year old any attention.

The next hour goes by with him and his cellphone. Walking home, he sifts through all the different folders. He's sent a few, I'd do this to you and other sultry words, but in reality, he's looking at photos. Specifically photo's of his friends. Angry at himself for caring, he snaps the phone shut. They don't care, he thinks vindictively. He nears the train station.

Boarding the train, he sits on an empty far corner, happy lunch-time rush had yet to occur.

His phone vibrates and he sees another text, it's Satsuki-san, a university student. Smirking, he texts her the place of an interesting restaurant, eagerly awaiting the feel of her creamy skin and _that look of lust _in her crimson eyes_. _He_ yearns _for the feel of silky pink hair against his shoulder, ticking his neck. Ivory fingers tighten against his cellphone and he looks out the window.

Kurosaki, Orihime, Sado, Ishida, his mother, fuck them. They can die for all he cares. Damn them and their dishonesty, their betrayal, they no longer matter. He's over worrying about people who never cared for him. Same goes for Asano, Arisawa and Honshō, he's done caring for broken friendships and tattered remains.

The train stops at the exit closest to the mall. He stuffs his cell in his school pants, after sending an excuse to school for his absence and viridian eyes gaze at the Sky. In his pocket, his switched off cell receives a text from a worried Keigo. Another three-hours later, Mizuiro is leaving another love Hotel and the message is deleted.

Mizuiro doesn't care about them. He only cares about Satsuki, Junko, Nana and all his other lovers. Only cares about the Women who love him, love the joy he brings them. No one else matters, he thinks briskly walking.

* * *

><p><strong>This is kind of like my hypothesis of how all the non-main characters of Bleach react to essentially being abandoned by all their friends and forced to face the reality that Monsters are trying to kill them and they have no defence against said Monsters. This fic-let shall include obviamente Mizuiro, Keigo, Tatsuki, Chizuru, Ryou, Mahana and Michuru, as main characters. Is rated 'M' because of 'Mature' language<strong>

**Also, how do people write smut seriously? I had trouble willing myself to write pelvis and grind within that context, for the sheer awkwardness of it. Anyway, thank you for reading.**


	2. Kunieda Ryou

_2. Kunieda Ryou. Class 3-B, Highschool. Seventeen years of age. Unknown Swordswoman._

_One._

She steps forward on her tip toes, solid in her stance and swiftly brings her _shinrai_ down. The swift movements causes an audible swish in the air around her and a deep cut appears in the wooden training post a few seconds later; but she's not finished.

_Two._

Her legs dance in an all too graceful way, as she twirls around, her shinrai thrown precisely from side to side. Another three slashes appear in the post, again she's not finished. Again it's not enough.

_Three._

Frowning, her nimble fingers move with practiced agility, her grip changes, looser she thinks. The shinrai sways and dances with her in a deadly yet enthralling way. Left, loop, left, right, up and right once more. One more kata and it's over, she thinks.

_Four._

A vertical slice upwards, swift horizontal and one last spin. A bang resides within the dojo and with a heaving chest Ryou looks at the damage she caused. The post is in tatters, crumbling apart, as though a wisp of wind could rip it apart. A scowl makes way on her face, her eyes drawn together in anger, not enough. It is still in one piece, she's still not strong enough. Ryou can't protect herself from demons and Hollows like this, she is powerles-

"You're getting much better," a soft voice pulls her from her reprieve.

Turning to face the entrance, Ryou gives the slightest bow to her cousin. Forced politeness in her every action.

"Konnichiwa Aoi-san," she replies gruffly.

Aoi ignores the greeting, her full cherry lips move softly.

"With the pace you're going, I imagine you'll master the use of a shinrai within a few more months," Aoi's voice is still gentle, but a hidden steel is behind her words.

Ryou stays quiet, watching her cousin warily. As expected, Aoi jumps forward, her own shinrai drawn, the best Ryou can manage is dodging the oncoming slaughter and kicking her cousin in her slim, hopefully frail stomach. Per usual, the kick doesn't connect and her perfect cousin brings her weapon down, keeping it a hairs breadth from Ryou's temple.

"If you keep pushing yourself though, I predict that mastering your weapon would be useless," Aoi's voice is deadly.

"Suimane Aoi-san, but you have absolutely no right interfering with my life," is her bitter reply.

"Hai, I apologise if I overstepped my boundaries," Aoi bends down, her long inky blue hair trailing behind her wistfully.

Tourmaline meets obsidian and a pale, slender hand's outstretched. Scoffing, Ryou stand by herself, glancing at the person she once called sister and turning her back on her. Just like all of Ryou's friends did to her. Slender fingers clench, caressing the new calluses and drawing blood. Trust no one, Ryou thinks.

Calloused fingers tighten on her shinrai as she resists the urge to fight a losing battle. Ryou's blood boils the more she looks at Aoi, the more she thinks of demon cats and monster spirits, things that don't make sense. Things that ruin, always without fail wrecking her life further. A phantom pain jolts her leg, where the Hollow had bitten her so many months ago. Ryou _needs_ to get stronger.

"Ryou, can- can we talk?" Unexpectedly Aoi's voice is hesitant.

"Ie, Aoi-_san _I can't say I wish to speak with a delinquent more than what is strictly necessary."

"What has gotten into you lately? Ever since the... incident, you've been so cold, can't you just forgive and forget."

"If you can Aoi-san, I'd appreciate some more practice. Alone."

"Why? So you can succeed in killing yourself? Because that's all I see."

"Just go back to your boyfriend and keep lying to me, it's the only thing your good at!" Ryou bites out.

Tourmaline eyes open widen, a shocked silence engulfs the dojo and Aoi is in shock, wondering what exactly happened to the person she called sister. Sighing softly, Aoi watches as her cousin ignores her, ignores their memories, all because of a lie. A brief lie that destroyed years worth of happiness. Turning around, Aoi leaves her younger cousin to her dangerous vice and walks out of her life, if only for now.

The dojo screen slams shut and Ryou straightens her stance.

_One._

* * *

><p><strong>This one is slightly more abstract, so to explain it, Ryou wants to protect herself, wants to make sense of things that don't make sense. She feels abandoned and in turn, goes to her cousin, Kunieda Aoi who tries and teaches her the way of the sword. But, she's immensely pissed off when she finds out Aoi has been hiding the existence of demons from her and it causes a huge rift in their friendship, because she's sick of lies. Oh, also, she moved in with their grandfather and is currently attending St. Ishiyama.<strong>

**Anyway, thank you for reading. Oh and yes, Kunieda Aoi from Beelzebub, if you got that, I used it because Ryou's real name is Kunieda Ryou, confirmed by Kubo Tite.**


	3. Arisawa Tatsuki

_3. Arisawa Tatsuki. Class-3F Karakura Highschool. Eighteen years of age. Now known obsessive compulsive spartanism._

Tatsuki's amber eyes glance at her mail, before she disregards it as useless and deposits it in the trash, where unwanted and unneeded things belong. She grabs some yen from a small, plain black coin purse and dumps the purse in her messenger bag, briskly walking from the empty apartment complex.

Each step taken is long, elegant and precise, she has no time to waste. Her life is brimming with precision and she has no need for clutter in her life. No need for lies and for deceiving people, a sudden vibration draws her from her reprieve and Tatsuki's eyes scan the text.

_To:ME  
><em>_From: Dame-Yoshi  
><em>_Subject: Morning._

_Nee-chan! (\\0^0/) Ohayou :) Hope you have a great day, see you soon, hopefully.(T^T) (Q.Q)  
>MISS YOU! <em>

A brief smile flickers across her face and without looking, she sends a reply to her enthusiastic younger brother. Eyes faced forward, she struts forward, precise and measured steps. There's no time for trivial activities and needless, time-consuming actions. No time for clutter, she thinks as she nears her vast school.

The day passes quickly, routinely even. Like every other day since she gave up on her friends. School. Dojo. Store. Apartment and if she feels up to it, a visit to her brother. Today's a particularly draining day, so Kiyoshi gets a rather apologetic text when she walks home, after training. Before she can place her phone in her pocket, another message assaults Tatsuki's teal phone and her lips thin, as she'd opened it without looking at the sender, a sender she very much did not need in her life.

_To:ME_  
><em>From:Unknown number<em>  
><em>Subject:Where are you?<em>

_Tatsuki~ Where are you? Ichigo-kun and I just got back from Soccer Camp.  
>I miss you ~. We should have some spicy onigiri soon.<br>Bye Bye. (/*n.n*\\)_

Tatsuki doesn't need to look at the number to realise who it is, plain as day, it's Inoue. The overdone hearts, the odd suggestion, even the weird emoji at the end. It irks Tatsuki how bugged she is at such a text and, despite having made it back to her clean, clutter-free apartment, she finds everything dirty. A compulsive need to clear everything overruns her, so she does just that.

She clears her phone of any evidence that Inoue had text. Then proceeds to delete Kiyoshi's text. Her parents. Mahana's. Michuru. Keigo. Even a two-week old text from Mizuiro. All traces of friendship, of companionship and tainted, blatant lies on her phone cleared. Then, she goes to her music folder and deletes every song she doesn't like. Which turns into every song she doesn't listen to very often. Before she clicks the clear all button.

Next are photo's. Most are recent, having already gotten rid of all past friendship tainting the phone, all the photos with Inoue, rare photos of a smiling Ichigo, were weeks ago deleted; when she'd decided moving was a better experience to become independent. Except now saved picture of athletes she liked, precious photo's of Kiyoshi and her. Of Keigo, Mizuiro and her, when they were Keigo, Mizuiro and Tatsuki, not Keigo. Mizuiro. Tatsuki. All too soon, she's reformatting her whole phone and she can breathe properly, because the stifling sensation, the overwhelming _need_ to clear her life is disappearing.

Sitting up from her couch, Tatsuki looks around her bare apartment. Every flaw, every useless artifact scrutinised and deemed unworthy. A heavy sigh leaves her peach lips and with grace, she stands tall. Amber eyes narrow and with vigour she cleans, organises and clears what little occupies her apartment. Food older than two days, thrown in the waste bin. Homework older than three days join the fresh food. Clothes not worn since in the least, four months ago get thrown in a black bag. The food and homework, the papers messing up her life, disposed of in the large garbage outside. Quickly she dumps her clothes off at a shelter and comes home to a barer house. A cleaner house.

Everything is in order. Everything is gone and no longer clotting her life up. No longer lying uselessly, no longer deceiving her. With blank eyes she takes in what is left of her rapidly uncluttered- emptied life. Tatsuki has no one. Has nothing, a smile graces her face, tired and withered. She has everything she needs.

* * *

><p><strong>Obssesive compulsive spartanism is described as the need to compulsively give things up and or away. To empty one's life. In Tatsuki's case, she needs to have not only something she can control, but she can't be greeted by stuff she can't, hence being unable to positively read Orihime's message. It's her idea of ordering the chaos, of clearing her life for the better. That's all I can say, as I don't quite get what it means, since I mostly 'Googled' everything about OBS.<strong>

**Thank you for reading.**


	4. Ogawa Michiru

_Ogawa Michiru. Class 3-C, Karakura Highschool. Under 20's championship basketball regular. Eighteen-years of age._

"Mi-chan~ I-so-gu! They'll sell out if you're too slow," Ayaka whines from the gym door.

Panting heavily, Michiru smiles at her best friend, before quickly doing a lay up. The ball slides from her hand, turning on its axis and rebounding off the head-board, before it landed with a swish in the hoop. She drops and a jolt of pain courses through her leg as she hits the ground, smiling through the pain she hopes no one noticed, they didn't.

"Sugoi Mi-chan!" Ayaka screams, stars in her eyes.

_"Eh~? Sugoi, sugoi, why didn't you tell us you could play basketball?" Tatsuki exclaims, unbidden curiosity upon her face._

"Maa maa Ayaka-chan, I'm not that good," Michiru scratches her cheek, a gesture of embarrassment.

_"H-h-hah? Ie, ie. I'm not that good Tatsuki-chan," Michiru exclaims shaking her head vigorously._

"I agree, so hurry up, I'm hungry," Naruka-chan bemoans clutching her stomach.

A fist comes and smashes Naruka's raven head. There, a red swollen bump raises slightly, crocodile tears run down her face and she glares at her friend.

"Maa, don't listen to Na-tan, she's just hungry!" Ayaka smirks at her younger sister, holding her fist up triumphantly.

_"Who cares how good she is, all the cute girls are outside!" Keigo pouts, pointing at the school festival._

_Suddenly Keigo's face is smashed into the ground. A red bump bruises his face and his eyes turned into swirls._

_"Urusai, Asano-san," Mizuiro chirps, polite smile in place._

_Mizuiro bows in greeting, while Keigo cries crocodile tears in the corner. Laughing, Tatsuki walks forward, dragging Michiru to the washroom. Michiru bites back a yelp of pain, reluctantly walking with Tatsuki._

Shrugging her duffle over her shoulder, she steadies herself, sends her friends a smile and with a barely noticeable limp, she walks towards the washroom.

With practiced ease, she slowly sits and rolls down her socks. Frowning at the swollen lump of pink, purple and blue, Michiru takes a first aid kit from her bag and takes the gauze and ointment out with practiced ease. Holding back a yelp, Michiru lifts her leg and lays it on top of the bench.

"Kuso," she curses lightly.

A look of utter concentration flickers across her face, as she first opened a lid to her ointment. Her leg burns at the feel of it, hot and soothing, like the sting of a hot springs bath after particularly gruelling training. Holding back another curse, she slowly begins to unravel her gauze. Before she can wrap her leg up, a pale ivory hand gently takes the gauze from her finger.

"Yare yare Mi-chan, it's troublesome when one is unaware of a friend suffering," Ayaka says, sitting down and moving Michiru's leg atop of her lap.

_"Maa maa Michiru, let me," Tatsuki says, gruffly yet kindly taking the gauze from her gentle fingers._

_Michiru looks up in wonder, she'd thought Tatsuki would stay outside, giving her enough time to fix this bothersome injury._

"A-ah. Suimase, Ayaka-chan," she apologises meekly.

_"Arigato, Tatsuki-chan," Michiru offers softly._

Looking up into Ayaka's orbs, Michiru's greeted with silent acceptance in emerald eyes.

"You really should stop pushing yourself so violently, this is the fourth time this month you've re-injured that leg,"Ayaka scolds lightly, taking care to wrap Michiru's leg tightly.

"Eh~"

Laughing softly at her friends confusion, Ayaka pats Michiru's uninjured foot.

"A good friend always notices when their friends are hurt, Mi-chan," Ayaka's whisper barely reaches her ear.

_"Go easy on yourself, Michiru-chan. If you don't, you mightn't be able to play next regional comp," Tatsuki scolds._

_Smiling at her friend, Michiru pushes the gentle scolding from her mind, grateful to have such a good friend._

"C'mon, we should head out before all the yakisoba is sold out and Na-tan throws another fit."

_"Okay, we should head out now," Tatsuki says, standing abruptly._

"Hai," Michiru replies, smile her face, because it doesn't matter

It doesn't matter that she'd seen darkness control beauty, that she'd seen weird unexplainable things, because she's grown. Sure, she sometimes still made the same silly mistakes, but she's no longer the naïve fifteen-year-old who cried when it all went to hell. Ogawa Michiru is strong, resilient and she's grown. Of course it still hurt, hurt that she got glares from people she considered her best friends and excuses, that she people who so close to only a year ago, we're strangers now, but it's fine because she's grown.

She'll always train a little too hard, for a little too long, but now she knows she has people to count on. People who hopefully won't leave her, so Ogawa Michiru stands and beams at her friend before limping out the washroom behind her, hoping that this friendship will last.

* * *

><p><strong>Who knew writing about someone with virtually no back story would be so hard? Anyway, thank you for reading and if it's too vague, Michiru's vice is her love of sports. Namely basketball, as she continues to push herself well and beyond her limits. Thank you for reading<strong>


	5. Honshō Chizuru

_5. Honshō Chizuru. Class 1-F, Ishiyama Highschool. Seventeen years of age. Known and ruthless gang member._

The cinders blow in the wind, darkening with a faint tangerine glow. Smoke fills her lungs, tar coats her throat and it feels disgusting. Either which way, she takes another deep drag of the glowing death stick, soft, thin, peach lips pursed. Her exhale is lengthy, the smoke sitting in her mouth, before seeping out with purpose.

"Honshō," her leader yells.

Turning, she faces the dark haired beauty. Calculating yet seductive eyes analyse her, something akin to worry and amusement cross her eyes.

"Daijobu?" She asked in a flippant manner.

Smirking, she uses her tongue to flick her cigarette to the side, answering in a careful mumble.

"Hai, senpai."

Ringo says nothing more, nodding before walking back to their questionably solid school building. Her hips sway as she leaves and Chizuru takes in the sight with a murmur of appreciation. A crashing sound quickly steals her attention though.

Someone flies out a window, face battered. Another person is thrown soon after, face beaten beyond recognition.

"Next time don't break my windows!" Tojo yells out to the less conscious figure.

Snickering, Chizuru blows a round of smoke from her nose, feeling the way it burned lightly. The tension she held inside slowly melting away, with the burning ash the fell towards her feet. A carefree grin covers her face and she feels so strong. No longer a weakling being protected by dense assholes.

Slender fingers grip at the chain around her waist. She'd need to ask Nene-onee-sama for a spar soon, to see how far her progress has actually taken her. Spitting the cigarette from her lips, a brave smirk covers her face. Maybe she could provoke Ryo for a fight, kami-sama knows the uptight bitch needs it.

Coughing violently, Chizuru lets the dry taste evaporate before adjusting her glasses. Shoulders squaring, she lets out a purposely agitated aura, hoping someone would challenge her. In reality she hoped it was a boy, but she wouldn't mind fighting anyone around about now. If it was a girl, then at least she'd be able to grope something worthwhile. The thought of an opponent with long legs and a short skirt made her smirk deepen. A shiver went through her as the image became more detailed. Licking her lips, Chizuru leisurely walked where the first years hung around, hoping some cocky bastard would foolishly spring her trap.

Predictably, not even two minutes some bold male tried to lay his hand upon her bottom. Before his fingers even made contact with her coat, her chain audibly cracked against his face. In slow motion, his sickly green eyes widen, then closed as he laid on the ground unconscious.

"Bitch!" His lackey yells, running towards her with a bat.

His image flickers as she imagines the bat slimming down into a katana, his thick, boyish features morphing into pale skin, angular faces and bones cover crevices on his face. Blood flows rapidly from his nose, staining the ground as he falls. A white cloak falls with him, as does the illusion. All that remains is a regular, defeated lackey and his unconscious counterpart.

Glaring bitterly, partly at the pitiful fighter and partly at the unwholesome memories. Scoffing at the fresh meat, Chizuru reminds herself to train these pitiful recruits, hell no would they survive in this demon-infested, hollow-induced realm with such dismissible skill. But, with practice, they'd survive, after all she did. Kicking the two delinquents, to remind them they needed to get stronger, she furls her whip, before bending down to the semi-conscious male before her.

Chizuru smiles, almost like the smile she gave an orange-haired princess once upon a yesteryear, before lifting him with minimal effort and digging through his poorly concealed secret pockets. There she spots his stash, mostly cigarettes and a switchblade. Nothing too surprising. Taking the packet, she swipes one then pulls her cyan lighter from her pocket.

Lighting the death stick fills her with a sense of disgust and guilt, she relishes the feeling and remembers a useless past, before dropping the packet. It lands with a clatter before the loser and the idiot better get the message.

He better see it as an insult, he'll come back looking for revenge and she'd wait. By the time she's finished with these naïve idiots, they'd be strong enough. They'll be able to look after themselves, she promises. They'll be strong, she won't let anyone stay weak. She won't protect them, Chizuru knows better than to repeat such idiotic mistakes.

Releasing a puff that fills her with self-hatred, Chizuru walks away and remembers a past that she promises, she won't ever repeat. Because she's never ever going to let anyone protect her again, never.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello. Thank you for reading and bye.<strong>


	6. Asano Keigo

_6. Asano Keigo.__ Class 3-A, Karakura Highschool. Eighteen-years of age. Known liar._

Thump, thump, thump.

His steps echo loudly in his ears.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Each movement is slowly getting sloppier, his anger slowly dissipating into a nothingness.

Coughing, with violent hacks coursing through him in a sporadic manner, Keigo looks at the cloudy is chilly and he feels his face flush. The world dims and blinking gradually, Keigo comes to a stop, panting with his arms raised behind his back. He swallows his breath awkwardly, while also trying to breath in. It ends harshly and he coughs more, an awful hacking sound that surrounds the previously peaceful park.

Straightening his shoulders, he stretches his arms, legs and core, before closing his dark eyes. With one last stretch, he cracks his neck to the side takes a glance at his wrist watch and decides to run home, before Mizuho would send Oshima to get him. He's not in the mood to see that lumbering mess of an awkward, kind-of friend right now. Alas, Keigo is too late to escape Mizuho's wrath and he can feel his annoyance grow steadily as Oshima mysteriously comes into view.

"What do you want?" Keigo mutters running past the former-bully.

"Your sister is looking after Mei, she told me you were banned from running by Ishida-san."

Keigo's eyebrow twitches at the way Oshima says that, banned, as though it wasn't his life he was leading, but Mizuho's or Oshima's.

"I don't give a damn about what Mizuho says," he growls out, frustrated with his older sisters insistent protection of him.

He can look after himself. He doesn't need her or her stupid rules. Doesn't need her stupid concern and especially doesn't need her shitty food and shittier lectures. Keigo is f-i-n-e, fine.

His legs move faster, subconsciously he tries to shake Oshima off.

Because all Keigo needs is a few seconds to himself, because nothing is wrong and yes- Dr. I-know-everything-Ishida he has eaten this week!...Or at least, he thinks he has? No, he's not lying...Maybe? Oh kami-sama help him, Keigo feels his mind suddenly become muddled up and the memories are no longer in their hidden place, no longer swept-beneath the rug, everything is around for him to see clearly and he hates it.

The reminiscent sensation of dread consumes him, he can feel the way his world is dissolving, ending around him in broken fragments, scattered haphazardly around his mind. A myriad of memories feast on his vulnerability. A flash of black. Ominous laughter- prickling pressure everywh-

Keigo falls suddenly, gasping for breath as his lung tightens and his vision blurs- there's a katana. Blood and shrill screams- He sways back and forth, despite being on the ground and something large is touching him. Fear bites at him and he begins to hyperventilate, each breath he draws being sharper and shorter than the last.

What's touching him? He doesn't like it, not one bit.

"Go- Ke'go- Keigo," a thundering voice tries to pull him from his reverie, but Keigo is lost.

He's lost and hungry, but he can't eat, he doesn't want to eat. Keigo wants to keep running, wants to keep pretending it's fine- wants to continue living a lie. There's too much to do for him to just do mundane things like eat, or school work and his thoughts attack him more viciously than any of those stupid hollows ever did. A lump forms in his throat and he cannot for the life of him remember how to breathe, so he's a gasping, shivering mess.

Cold sweat pours down his face in spades full.

But despite it all he's fine okay!

Capital 'F', Fine. No his heart isn't smashing audibly because he hasn't gotten a text from anyone other than his sister in two months. No, his grades are not worse than ever. He's in control alright and he doesn't even need Tatsuki to smile back at him or for Michiru to look at him with eyes that aren't filled with pity. Keigo doesn't look around his class daily for his lost friends, he never wishes Ryo would walk through the door with a sarcastic quip or Chizuru would hit on a girl he likes. Seeing Mahana drowning in success does not make him feel any sadness for the lost of camaraderie. There's nothing wrong with him smashing the picture of him and Mizuiro okay! Keigo is not insane alright!

Sobbing to himself, with a grumbling stomach that begs for nutrients, Keigo remembers the days when his lies were far more realistic and much easier to produce.

* * *

><p><strong>Oshima is a bully in Bleach that Ichigo beat up, I just gave him an off screen redemption with Keigo. Reasons why Keigo is a mess? Probably because I imagine he was the glue for his friends, Mizuiro though loyal is cold, Tatsuki too hot-headed and the rest of the Ichi-crew too conceited-ish to think that maybe Keigo and Co can look after themselves. In the end Keigo would probably try the most to keep each and every friendship he has thriving, but the rest of his former-friends have breaking points. Breaking points that last two years to get to, but breaking points nonetheless. Plus, I have a tendency to inflict pain on my favourite characters, sue me. Okay, thanks for reading, bye.<strong>


	7. Natsui Mahana

_7. Natsui Mahana. Class 3-A, Karakura Highschool. Eighteen-years of age. Known braniac and dreamer. _

Mahana loved Karakura, or she once loved Karakura.

Karakura was once so simple, yet so large and she loved that. Loved going out and meeting people, everyday was an adventure. But above all, she loved learning.

She always had a question, always wanted a response, always wanted more.

But back then she had friends, friends to tell her she was working too hard or being too weird, now she had very little.

Little else, but her grades, she thought holding up the results of her latest essay. 100% circled by red ink marred the top of the page, the second one this unit and Mahana, Mahana glared at it as if willing it to go away.

She hated consistent perfect scores, it meant there was nothing else left to learn in this unit. Nothing else to learn this unit meant nothing else to do and that meant she had time to think. Thinking always lead her back to Hollows and Hollows always left her angry. She hated being angry, because anger was a sign something was wrong and that's how Mahana thought.

As a child, she'd always lived in extremes. Too much attention or too little attention. Not thinking enough or over thinking, she always lived like that and she hated that as well.

Currently, Mahana hated a lot of things. Ranging from friends, to days outs and even colours like black and white.

The only thing she still loved doing was learning and even then it was a hollow kind of love, a love she only had because it distracted her. Learning kept her mind off of things and it let her forget and she loved learning in the same way she loved Science and Japanese Literature, because she always loved finding something different and she always loved adventure and as far as she's concerned, learning was the best kind of adventure.

The thing about learning, she thought biting on her mechanical pencil, is that it never hurt you, not really, not ever. A math equation would never lie to you or ostracise you, with math equations you only ever have two choices, you choose the right answer or the wrong answer and that's how they were simple.

People however, people were hard to read and the amount of choices one could make concerning people were infinite, as were the outcomes. You mess up once, you give people one reason to not trust you, then suddenly everything was different and Mahana never understood that. Because she could never ever turn away a friend, even now when the sight of them made her knuckles white and her palms bleed, if they asked for her help, she'd give it without a second thought.

Clenching her fist at the small reminder of her friends, of the kids they once were, Mahana breathes deeply, pulls out a Japanese Literature text and reads.

She reads about characters and origins, despite being in ethics class, reads even though she shouldn't and for another hour Mahana can pretend that she can still stand Karakura. She can still pretend that she's not going leave to the furthest University, that would take her, in Japan after graduation, if only for a little while longer, she can pretend that she's still fifteen and Tatsuki sits next to her and all of her friends whisper to each other while she pretends she's not eavesdropping.

Mahana smiles into her book and for just a little while longer, she convinces herself she still loves Karakura with all of her heart.

For a little while longer, she can dream of friendships, relationships and laughter. For a little while longer she can forget the blurry things that attack her and her friends, can forget the roars that keep her up at night and forget all the broken promises.

For just another hour, everything is simple and wonderful and she loves it.

* * *

><p><strong>Mahana was actually supposed to be a lot more bitter than this, but this how she ended up being. Lol her and Keigo should switch places, because she's lying to herself way better than he's lying to himself. So she's constantly dreaming, her vice is she's convincing herself that this fantasy world is real and when it turns out to be fake, she gets even more hurt in the process... Anyway thank you for reading this far, this is the end of the series I guess, I don't think I'll update it so it will say complete, but who knows for sure? Again, thanks and bye.<strong>


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